PURE LARD: SECRET ORIGIN

D.J. Kirkbride writes this Pure Lard column every fucking month. He just does. A while back, he asked Wayne if he could put it in tastes like chicken. After several bribes of Guinness, Wayne said, \"Why the hell not?\" So, on to the good times.
Productivity is at an all-time low. If it doesn’t involve watching TV, eating, or sleeping, I want no part of it. Sure, sure, I have grand plans for success... things I would do and accomplish \"if only\". If only what? If only I wasn’t lazy as all fuck? If only I’d not been in that one in a million freak science lab accident?!?
Perhaps you’ve no idea what I’m going on about. Perhaps we should take a trip to several years ago... when everything changed.
I was a young college grad full of life, dreams, and ambition... all of which were put on hold that one fateful-ass day in a science lab. I was there visiting a scientist friend of mine. He had to put his beaker, lab coat, and Bunsen burner back in his locker, so I waited for him in the seemingly innocent Human Radioactive & DNA Experiments room.
From what I gathered, these scientists were pushing the limits of human potential by radioactively manipulating the good old God-made DNA of several \"volunteer\" (re: anti-war, hippie-type) subjects. The experiments were locked in cages, asleep from the nightly dose of bourbon and Leno monologues... but one of the cages was empty. Its door just swung with excessive squeaking. Something was going down, and I was right in the shit.
Before I had a chance to talk to myself and explain the situation aloud, some pudgy guy in a hospital gown lazily bumped into me. As I yelped in shock, he scratched himself, and farted* on me! As soon as the odoriferous emanations entered my nose, everything went immediately dark.
When I came to, my friend was looking over me, a worried/guilty look on his face. Apparently, the guy that bit me was the \"genetic leftover\" subject, kinda like Danny DeVito in Twins. The scientifically lethargic bastard had wandered out of his cage looking for snacks and a TV. He was too lazy to put up much of a fight, and was quickly contained by armed guards not long after his attack on my innocent bystander-ass.
Nodding, I told my friend that whatever else he wanted to explain was boring to me. I was woozy, and had him help me to a local bar so I could get shitfaced (naturally), and then head home.
The next morning, my alarm went off at 7:30 AM for work, just like it always did in those days. Rather than dutifully turning it off and hopping in the shower, getting ready for work, I found myself hitting \"snooze\", and dozing back off to sleep. This happened seven times. Finally rolling out of bed 45 minutes late for work, I chose to forego the shower, and stumbled to the kitchen.
I then poured myself a bowl of cereal, uncharacteristically leaving the box open on the counter, and not wiping up the milk I spilled (nor crying over it). Breakfast in tow, I plopped on the couch, yawned, and turned on the TV.
Two hours of channel-surfing and five bowls of various cereals later, it became clear to me that I might as well not go to work at all that day.
And that’s how it happened. That’s how I became the lazy, always half-asleep bitch I am today. Just a fatefully fateful twist of fate.
Now, five years later, I use my powers for the good of fast food joints and beer companies everywhere!
Damn... all this typing is making me tired. Better just end this right now and... take a nap... after I eat something.
*I want to be the first to apologize for my use of a fart \"joke\" of sorts. I swore to myself I’d never do it, but, well, uh... it kinda made me smirk. Won’t happen again, though. Again, lo siento.
VISIT D.J. AT PURELARD.NET.